


Tumblr Hug Requests Compilation

by ToxicPineapple



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Chapter specific warnings included, DO Not fucking request here or I'll beat you to death with my hooves, Drabble Compilation, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hug Request Drabbles, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Idk how to tag for this, Injury, Kisses, Multi, Nonbinary Momota Kaito, Nonbinary harukawa maki, Request Drabbles, Tumblr Request Drabbles, implied injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:01:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 9,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicPineapple/pseuds/ToxicPineapple
Summary: Kuzuryuu is definitely not thinking about that as he cranes his head back to peer into his partner’s eyes. “Whaddya want?” he grumbles, wrinkling his nose. “It’s fucking cold, Kaito.”“Yeah?” Momota beams at that for some reason, their eyes lighting up. “Funny you say that, actually. See, at the bus stop, I was thinking about how short you are--”“Eat a dick!” Kuzuryuu exclaims.“--and I-- hey, it’s not a bad thing!” Momota pouts.“I fucking hate you,” Kuzuryuu frowns, his face heating up.---I'm cramming all my tumblr hug prompt requests on here. Don't request in the comments of this fic or I'll kick you. Find the prompts and shit on my tumblr, @toxicisnotapineapple
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Chabashira Tenko/Harukawa Maki, Akamatsu Kaede/Harukawa Maki, Akamatsu Kaede/Iruma Miu, Amami Rantaro/Momota Kaito, Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi, Iruma Miu/Nanami Chiaki, Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko/Momota Kaito, Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko/Souda Kazuichi, Momota Kaito/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 129





	1. Amamota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request: prompt 17, amamota
> 
> "a hug where one muse stops the other from collapsing"
> 
> tw: implied injury

Kaito is reading on the couch when he hears the locks turning on the front door. He looks up with a smile, putting his book to the side and getting to his feet. Rantaro’s been on a trip for the past week, but that’ll be him now, most likely. He takes out his phone, glancing down at the time. Mmm. He’s a little late. But it’s a Friday night, and traffic is no doubt congested around the airport, so it’s no big deal. Kaito nudges the toe of his slipper against the coffee table and pads over to the door.

It’s taking Rantaro a little while to get the door open. Kaito is almost concerned by it. It sounds as though he’s struggling to get the key into the lock. It’s possible that he’s just tired, of course (he just got off like a fourteen hour flight from New York City) but... mm. It’s just that Rantaro’s travels don’t have the tendency to be the safest, and he’s already here late. Kaito doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but he peeks through the peephole anyway, catches a flash of his boyfriend’s green hair, and swiftly undoes the locks before pulling the door open.

“Oh, hey,” Rantaro says, smiling. He’s got a hand (his right hand) up against the doorframe, bracing his weight there, and his other is shaking, still holding his keys. Kaito’s brow creases and he does a quick sweep of his partner, trying to figure out what the issue is. It’s difficult to tell. Rantaro’s really good at smiling when he’s hurt. “Sorry, I didn’t realise it was taking so long.”

“No prob,” Kaito returns quietly. His gaze returns to Rantaro’s eyes, crinkled at the edges as they are, and he catches a shadow of pain flickering within them. It’s the most he’ll get, usually; Rantaro has so much practice at putting up a mask it’s hard to tell what he’s feeling at _any_ time, much less when he actually has something to hide. Kaito bites his lip. “How’re we feelin, bud?”

“Fine,” Rantaro breathes out. Kaito raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms, leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe, pursing his lips. Rantaro chuckles. “Okay, you got me, I’m,” he lifts his hand off the door to raise it in a placating gesture, and then his eyes go wide and he stumbles forward. Kaito shifts quickly, scrambling to catch him, and Rantaro’s hands clutch at his shoulders for balance. He’s breathing hard, his hands shaking where they’re gripping Kaito’s shirt, and forehead is beaded with sweat. “Ah,” intones Rantaro, which Kaito thinks is fair.

“Okay, uh,” Kaito shifts some more, trying to work out if he can pick Rantaro up, because the way things are going right now he’s not sure how his boyfriend even made his way up to their door. “I’m gonna take you inside? And then call an ambulance.”

Rantaro opens his mouth to protest.

“Really, dude?” Kaito interrupts, before he can say anything, and Rantaro chuckles, strained and breathy, shaking his head into Kaito’s neck.

“Sorry, old habit,” Rantaro winces. Kaito sighs, the indignation draining out of him, and reaches down to hook his arm underneath Rantaro’s legs. Up he goes. As Kaito closes the door with his shoulder, moving slow and steady so as not to jostle Rantaro (since he still doesn’t know where the problem area is), he nuzzles Kaito’s jaw, humming. “Thanks. And sorry.”

“What business you got apologising to me?” grumbles Kaito. He presses the door shut with his heel. “No problem, man. I gotcha.” He pauses. “I love you. I’m glad we’re doing this here and not on an airplane.”

Rantaro laughs weakly at that. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees softly. “I love you too.”

One hell of a welcome home party. Kaito rests Rantaro down on the couch and takes out his phone to dial 119.


	2. Amasai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request: prompt 4, amasai
> 
> "a hug from behind"

Rantaro wrinkles his nose and flicks Kaede’s cowlick. “You’re a brat.”

“No, you,” Kaede giggles, then shakes her head quickly, her brows flicking upwards on her face. “I’m just saying, I think it’s a good picture!”

“It’s a terrible picture,” Rantaro retorts. He looks down at his phone, scrunching up his face. “Look at me, my mouth is partially open. It’s disgusting. I could be smiling normally here, or my mouth could be _closed,”_ which is ideal, really, “but no, I had to be a clown.”

Kaede covers her mouth with a hand to suppress her giggles, and Rantaro grins. He doesn’t particularly care, he mostly just goes off like this to try and make Kaede laugh. Reminds him of the way he and his sisters used to mess around, back before they were lost. Hm. “Okay, okay, but what about Saihara-kun?” Kaede clears her throat, regaining her composure. “He looks good, doesn’t he!”

“A non-issue; Shuichi always looks good,” Rantaro shrugs. “I’m stating facts, here. Can’t use my boyfriend’s good looks against me if he always has them.”

“Yeah, but look at the way the the sun lights up his eyes! Isn’t he pretty?”

“If I didn’t know you were a lesbian, I’d almost think you have a crush on Shu,” Rantaro remarks idly.

“Ew! No, c’mon, don’t be weird,” Kaede shakes her head quickly. “I’m just saying! I’m allowed to notice how pretty my best friend is, aren’t I?”

“He’s very pretty,” Rantaro concedes. “But this is a lot of effort to put into getting me to forgive you for a candid.”

“Is it working?” Kaede beams. Rantaro opens his mouth to say something (he’s not sure what; the answer is _yes_ but as a matter of principle he’s inclined to say _no_ ) but is interrupted when a pair of arms slip their way around his waist, a chin tucking up on his shoulder. He hums, glancing down, sees long sweatshirt sleeves and shiny black nails, then smiles, turning his head so that his nose squishes against Shuichi’s cheek.

“Hi,” Shuichi greets, fluttering his eyelashes. “You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“Not long at all,” Rantaro returns, which is a lie, they’ve been here for like half an hour, but he doesn’t mind. Kaede smiles wryly and Rantaro huffs at her, leaning into Shuichi’s embrace. “And hey there, did you have fun?”

“I did,” Shuichi hums, turning his head and kissing Rantaro on the cheek. Rantaro smiles, humming. Thank you sir that’s much appreciated. “Momota-kun was talking the entire time. It was sweet.” He clears his throat. “But, ah, nevermind, are we ready to go? I’m sorry for being late.”

“Really, no prob,” Rantaro turns around in his embrace to kiss him on the forehead, then pulls back, smiling into his eyes. Kaede was right about the whole sunlight thing; in the light, the grey hue of Shuichi’s irises turns more of a sunflower, and it’s absolutely stunning. “I’ll wait for you forever, y’know?”

“Okay, gayboys,” Kaede rolls her eyes. “I love you two so much, but I’m incredibly hungry, and Tenko is already waiting for us at the cafe!” She puffs out her cheeks. “So let’s rumble maybe?”

Rantaro looks down at Shuichi again, and then they both laugh. Shuichi releases him from the hug to lace their fingers together, and Rantaro squeezes his hand. “Sure, we can rumble,” Rantaro says after a moment, looking over at Kaede. She nods and turns around, starting off towards the cafe without waiting for them to follow.

Mmm. Fair enough, Miss Akamatsu Kaede. Rantaro chuckles, feels Shuichi squeeze his hand again, and then starts off after her.


	3. Tenkaemaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> request: tenkaemaki, prompt 12
> 
> "the hug that comes after a rough day"

Maki closed the door carefully behind themself, slumping back against it for a brief moment, fluttering their eyes shut. They would get up in a moment and pad into the apartment, maybe put the kettle on for tea and flop down into the couch, but they took a moment to compose themself, knowing that Kaede and Tenko were home, knowing that the two of them would be concerned if they saw Maki looking so drained.

They _were_ drained though. That was the thing. And they were equal parts blessed and cursed with a couple of girlfriends who were exceptionally skilled in the art of empathising. Ugh. Maki pushed themself off the door, ran a hand through their hair, and kicked off their boots, grabbing their indoor shoes from the cubby and stepping into them. The bedroom light was on, and from inside Maki could hear faint murmurs. The sound of their girlfriends made them smile despite everything as they slipped into the kitchen and turned on the light.

If Tenko and Kaede didn’t hear the front door closing, they would know Maki was home by the yellow light creeping under their door from the kitchen. It was just as well.

They (being Maki) opened a drawer and pulled out the electric kettle, walking over to the sink. They would have used the actual, real kettle, but they were too tired. Their eyes just kept on slipping closed, not necessarily for sleep but for some semblance of rest, and that wasn’t really the best for putting something on the stove. Or for handling the stove at all, in fact. The electric kettle was automatic. It was the safer option.

...Maki was good at that. Choosing the safer option.

As they plugged the kettle into the wall and leaned backwards against the counter, they heard the squeak of the bedroom door opening and closing. They closed their eyes and listened to the sound of Kaede and Tenko’s footsteps, having committed their gaits to memory years ago, and managed to crack a smile when one of them (Kaede) came to a stop beside them.

There was a hesitation in her. Maki lifted their arm, and allowed Kaede to curl her arm around their waist.

“You look tired,” Kaede remarked, nuzzling against their collarbone. Maki hummed.

“Yeah,” they said. They thought that was an adequate response.

“Bad day at work?” Kaede asked, more quietly, and they shrugged their shoulders. Another adequate response. Should’ve spoken for itself, really. Maki kept their eyes closed and listened to the light padding noises of Tenko’s own slippers, slumped their shoulders and allowed her to curl an arm around those as well. After a moment of contemplation, Maki slipped an arm around Tenko’s waist, and an arm around Kaede’s shoulders, inhaling the smell of cherry blossoms and honeysuckle, things they associated with their girlfriends. Smells that reminded them of home.

They _were_ home.

“Does Maki wanna talk about it?” Tenko’s voice was gentle and soft. The first time Maki heard her speaking that way, they bristled, their eyes going wide. The only people who spoke to them in that voice were trying to get them to lower their guard and give in. Get at them where they were sensitive. Tenko was never like that. The contrast between her soft, comforting whispers and her angry yells was an area of comfort for Maki now.

“No,” said Maki. They left it at that.

“Okay!” Kaede squeezed their waist, a smile creeping into her voice. “Then Tenko and I will make you katsudon tonight!”

“If by Tenko and I, Kaede means just Tenko, then yup! Tenko will make Maki katsudon!” Tenko chirped, coaxing a snort out of Maki. “Tenko loves Kaede very much and also doesn’t trust her in her kitchen.”

“Wow!” Kaede’s indignation was greatly exaggerated, probably for Maki’s benefit. “Tenko, that’s cold!”

“Tenko is sorry,” said Tenko, not sounding at all sorry. “If Kaede would like to make the rice, she’s invited to.”

“There’s no challenge in putting rice in the rice cooker,” Kaede whines. The pout in her voice is audible.

Tenko laughs. “Well, yeah! That’s why Tenko suggested it.”

Maki hums, curling their arms tighter around their girlfriends, and cutting off the argument for the briefest of moments. Their chest feels warm, a tingling, familiar sensation familiar only because they have these two. They’re so damn _lucky._ And they know that when they open their eyes, Kaede and Tenko will be looking at them with love in their own. That’s all they could ask for, really.


	4. Kuzumota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kuzumota, prompt 7
> 
> "a hug where one muse picks the other up"

Momota is deep in thought.

At least, that’s what Kuzuryuu gathers, looking at them. They only make that expression when they’re thinking about something. Their brow all furrowed and their lip curling up.

Knowing them, it’s something fucking stupid, about crabs at the bottom of the ocean or whether the glass bowl around the Kool-Aid man is his clothes or his body (dumbass, literally, _what a dumbass,_ how dare they fill Kuzuryuu’s brain with that shit) but the thoughtful expression is begrudgingly, admittedly attractive. And they’re at a bus stop right now in front of god and everyone, which means Kuzuryuu can’t stare as hard as he would if they were alone. Damn.

In lieu of staring, Kuzuryuu nudges Momota with his elbow, muttering, “What’s got you all distant?”

“Hm?” Momota blinks, then smiles sheepishly. “Uh, have I been spaced out for too long?”

“Not too long,” Kuzuryuu grumbles. “Don’t be weird. I just noticed you looked like you were thinking about somethin.”

“Sure am,” Momota’s sheepish smile shifts into a grin, “you been lookin?”

Kuzuryuu huffs. “Dumbass.”

Momota’s smile doesn’t falter, though. If anything, it widens, which only goes to prove Kuzuryuu’s point about them being a dumbass. God damnit.

“You gonna tell me what you were thinking?” he asks, giving Momota a side eye, clearing his throat and trying to will the heat in his cheeks to die down.

“Yeah,” Momota says. They don’t continue, though, they just lean against the bus sign, tilting their head back. “In a bit,” they add, and Kuzuryuu chews the inside of his cheek. Okay, like Kuzuryuu knows what that means, but go off.

The bus comes up to the stop a moment later, and the doors open with a squeal. Momota gestures for Kuzuryuu to step on first, one of their dumbass chivalrous gestures that Kuzuryuu does _not_ think are hot, and the two of them find a relatively uncrowded spot, standing together by the window.

By the time they reach the park by Momota’s grandparents’ house, Kuzuryuu’s mind is buzzing. It is almost definitely something extremely stupid. But he can’t help being curious anyway. It’s The Boyfriend Effect(tm). It gives him a stupid, inexplicable interest in everything his partner is concerned with. God damnit.

“Hey, stop for a second,” Momota hums, resting a hand on Kuzuryuu’s shoulder. Kuzuryuu turns, raising his eyebrows. They’re cutting through the playground as usual, a more scenic route back to Momota’s house, and when Momota stops him they’re standing by the swingset. It’s not exactly a perfect day for hanging around outside. It’s mid-October and the sky is a solid sheet of grey. Chilly, too. Kuzuryuu can feel the tip of his nose getting pink.

This has the added benefit of the playground being totally empty, but Kuzuryuu is definitely not thinking about that as he cranes his head back to peer into his partner’s eyes. “Whaddya want?” he grumbles, wrinkling his nose. “It’s fucking cold, Kaito.”

“Yeah?” Momota beams at that for some reason, their eyes lighting up. “Funny you say that, actually. See, at the bus stop, I was thinking about how short you are--”

“Eat a dick!” Kuzuryuu exclaims.

“--and I-- hey, it’s not a bad thing!” Momota pouts.

“I fucking hate you,” Kuzuryuu frowns, his face heating up. “Like, you’re right? But you didn’t have to say it, asshole.”

“C’mon, Fuyu,” Momota’s pout deepens, and Kuzuryuu softens at the nickname, entirely against his will. Momota is _cute_ damnit, how fucking dare they? “But anyways, I was thinking about how short you are, right? And I was thinkin also, that if we weren’t at the literal bus stop, like-- I mean, I’m pretty strong, y’know? So theoretically--”

“Fuck off,” Kuzuryuu says, his eyes widening.

“ _Theoretically,_ I could--”

“ _Please_ fuck off!”

Momota does not fuck off, the bastard. Instead, they reach out, slip their arms around Kuzuryuu’s waist, and lift him off the ground in a hug. Kuzuryuu determinedly does not squeak like some kind of bottom bitch, though admittedly he does grasp at Momota’s shoulders, leaning into the embrace automatically, without thinking about it.

He’s nose to nose with Momota now. And there’s a grin on their stupid face. Kuzuryuu feels his face flushing.

“Cold now?” Momota asks, giving Kuzuryuu a squeeze.

“Fuck you,” Kuzuryuu says. Momota laughs. “Hey, fuck you, Kaito, you’re the worst and I hate you so much.” When Momota laughs harder, Kuzuryuu grumbles, and moves one of his hands from Momota’s shoulder to their cheek, guiding them in for a kiss.

They’re not laughing now. To be fair, though, Kuzuryuu isn’t either; he’s kinda distracted.


	5. Kuzusouda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kuzusouda, prompt 3
> 
> "a hug to say sorry"

“Fuck you,” Kuzuryuu states, plopping down onto the couch. He turns his head very pointedly in the other direction, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in what Souda considers to be an extremely adorable way. “I hate you. I can’t even look at you.”

“Aww, c’mon, man,” Souda pouts, sitting down next to him. Kuzuryuu scoots away until he’s pressed against the arm of the couch, his head still turned in the other direction. “Dude, c’mon. It’s not a big deal.”

“I was saving it!” Kuzuryuu exclaims. “I was saving it for a special occasion, but your dumbass saw it and went _heehoo donut_ and now I have nothing. I’m gonna starve to death, you bastard.”

“The fridge is full!” Souda protests. “It was a donut, man! We can go to the grocery store right now and get you another one. We can get you two! We can even get you _three_ donuts.”

“It’s not the same,” Kuzuryuu sniffs. “I’m never forgiving you.”

Souda groans. God damnit. Kuzuryuu is so stubborn about this stuff too, damn it all. He should’ve known what he was setting himself up for in dating this man. But it’s a freaking donut!!! Really? _Really?_ “C’moooon, Fuyuhiko,” Souda whines.

“Quit your moaning,” Kuzuryuu grumbles. “I’m not gonna forgive you.”

Bet! Bet. Fucking bet, motherfucker. Souda sits up, clears his throat, and puts on his best puppy eyes. Then he scoots over so that he and Kuzuryuu are touching and drapes himself over the guy, tucking his chin onto his shoulder.

“Dude, what the hell?” Kuzuryuu looks over, his gaze softening and then hardening again with a vengeance when they make eye contact. Souda suppresses his grin.

“I’m sooorryyyy,” he draws out, fluttering his eyelashes. “I’m so sorry I ate your sacred donut, Kuzuryuu Fuyuhiko, love of my life. Please forgive me.”

Kuzuryuu wrinkles his nose. “Stop making that face.”

“Not until you forgive me,” Souda declares.

It takes a couple seconds for Kuzuryuu to crumble, groaning loudly, reciprocating the hug with a look of deep (but fond) irritation on his face. “Fine! You win. But _you’re_ buying me more donuts, you fucking asshole.”

Souda beams, nuzzling his shoulder. “Will do!” he says brightly. Victory is his. Kuzuryuu groans again, but when he turns his head away, freckled cheeks flaring pink, Souda catches a glimpse of a smile on his face.


	6. Amasai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amasai, prompt 17
> 
> "a hug where one muse stops the other from collapsing"
> 
> tw: sickness

Shuichi stops, resting a hand on a telephone pole, and blinks spots out of his vision. He’s been feeling a bit feverish since he woke up this morning, and it’s not a good look, honestly, it really isn’t. This is the fourth time he’s had to stop walking and slow Rantaro down. If his head wasn’t pounding so bad, he’d have more energy to be apologetic. As things are, even the guilt that hits him seeing Rantaro stop and turn around is sluggish and thick, making its way through his system. He blinks dizzily, scrunching up his nose.

Ah. Suddenly Rantaro’s green eyes are right in front of him. There’s a concerned frown on his face; a crease in his forehead. “I know you said you’re fine,” he begins, gently, a cool hand touching Shuichi’s forehead. That’s odd. Usually his hands are very warm. “But you’re also totally allowed to not be.”

“I know,” Shuichi says, and his voice sounds like it’s a million miles away, shrouded in fog and covered in cobwebs. He sways a bit in his place. “I just, ah, I don’t,” he has difficulties gathering his thoughts, swallowing back another bout of dizziness. “I don’t want to, mmh, inconvenience you.”

“You could never be an inconvenience to me,” Rantaro replies seriously, his frown deepening. Shuichi widens his eyes a bit at that (hearing that kind of thing from someone you have a crush on a surefire way to turn your cheeks pink) but if Rantaro notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just brings his hand down to brush Shuichi’s cheek, and then his jaw. He makes to pull it away, but Shuichi leans into the touch, chasing his hand with his face, so Rantaro obliges, letting his fingers rest there.

It takes a moment for Shuichi to figure out how to speak coherently. “Alright, I,” he breathes steadily, “maybe I should, ah,” he closes his eyes. Mmmmm. Being sick sucks. He has a difficult enough time formulating thought around Rantaro to begin with, much less when he’s dizzy with fever.

“Rest?” Rantaro suggests, softly. Shuichi cracks an eye open, nodding, and sees a small smile spread Rantaro’s lips. It’s such a relief to see that and not a frown on his face that Shuichi slumps a bit, smiling also. God, Rantaro’s pretty. It’s a nice day out too, and his green eyes are fragmented by the light. The colour reminds Shuichi of springtime. “I’ll take you back to mine, then,” Rantaro hums. “It’s just around the corner. Want me to carry you?”

“Ah, no, I’m alright,” Shuichi says, pushing himself off the telephone pole. Only to immediately stumble, swaying in place, and then fall into Rantaro’s waiting arms. When he looks up, dizzy, Rantaro’s brow is creased in concern again. His arms curl around Shuichi’s waist, tight and protective.

“You, uh, sure about that?” he asks, smiling sheepishly.

“Mmm,” Shuichi bites his lip. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“See, you keep saying that,” Rantaro wrinkles his nose. “I dunno how to convey to you that you literally,” he reaches down, curls an arm around Shuichi’s legs, “could _never_ be an inconvenience to me.” Shuichi squeaks when Rantaro picks him up, throwing his arms around his shoulders and hugging him tight. Oh man! Boy is in the air. And it’s a little bit bad for the dizziness, the sudden shift in location, but mostly his heart just feels light and fuzzy. Rantaro’s arms are warm and from where he’s being cradled against his chest Shuichi can feel his heartbeat, steady and calming despite everything.

It’s nice. Rantaro is nice. Shuichi hums, begrudgingly pleased, and tucks his head into Rantaro’s shoulder.

Chuckling, Rantaro says, “Get some rest, Saihara-kun, we’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Secretly, Shuichi wishes Rantaro would carry him forever. He doesn’t say that, though. He just nods, nuzzles his neck, and lets his eyes flutter shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all like your whump huh


	7. Irumatsu/Kaemiu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> irumatsu/kaemiu, prompt 15
> 
> "a ‘ just to say i love you ’ hug"

Miu scrunches up her face and pokes her tongue out of the corner of her mouth as she fuses two wires together. Like, okay, she could do this shit in her sleep (she ain’t the gorgeous girl genius for nothin!) but still, it requires some goddamn concentration. She conducts electricity just as well as these wires do, and as much as she jokes about electric shocks as they pertain to sex, she isn’t really in the mood to fuck around and find out. For once.

Hell yeah. We are in _business_ babey. This clock is going to be so fucking sexy, when she gets it to Kokichi, he’s gonna fall to his goddamn knees and--

A pair of arms throw themselves around her shoulders, a bright, bell-like laugh sounding from behind her, and Miu jumps, dropping the newly fused wires into her lap with a squeak. She recognises the laughter, of course (she’s not a lesbian for nothin!) but still, but still, it took her off guard, damnit! Miu’s entire face lights up red as she turns around, making flustered eye contact with her girlfriend.

“Jesus christ, babe,” Miu grumbles. “Ever heard of knocking?”

“Yeah,” Kaede giggles, maybe at being called babe, maybe at Miu’s tone, planting a kiss on her forehead, and then her cheek, and Miu exhales, putting her shit to the side of the moment so she can turn around and embrace Kaede properly. It’s a bit awkward, since Kaede is standing and Miu is sitting, but the gorgeous girl genius is no quitter! Not to mention that she’s gay as well, and Kaede smells like honeysuckle, and... yeah, yeah, this is hella.

“Okay,” Miu scoffs, after a thoroughly un-heterosexual length hug. “So, what’s the deal? Get into some fancy shmancy piano performance that you wanna celebrate about?” She looks up at Kaede, quirking her brows.

Kaede’s plum eyes are sparkling. She averts her gaze, pursing her lips, thinking for a moment. “Nooo,” she shakes her head, the pale purple earrings Miu made for her for their anniversary a couple months ago shifting with the movement. “I just wanted to say I love you, I guess!” She beams. Miu’s face goes red a second time, and she stammers, trying to figure out an adequate response.

Like, they’ve _said_ I love you before, but it’s always been late at night and under the covers, or else through tears, or else in the privacy of one of their dorms when nobody else is around. And nobody else is here now, either, they’re in Miu’s lab, but the daylight streaming in through the windows gives it a... remarkably different feeling.

“Sorry, was that too forward?” Kaede chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of her neck. “I don’t wanna make you fee--”

“I love you too,” Miu huffs out. “Now sit your ass down or somethin, you’re distracting me from my work!”

Kaede lets out another one of those glowing laughs, and Miu wrinkles her nose. Damn her for being sexy as hell. What the fuck. “Got it,” Kaede coos, snatching a seat nearby and sitting down in it. “I’ll just sit here and watch you work! No distractions at all!”

_It’s one hell of a distraction, actually,_ Miu thinks and does not say. Instead, she smiles over at her girlfriend and picks the clock back up, getting back to business.


	8. Irumatsu/Kaemiu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> irumatsu/kaemiu, prompt 5
> 
> "a good morning hug"

When Kaede wakes up, it’s to the smell of pancakes, drifting into her bedroom, and already a sleepy smile is spreading across her features. The bed next to her is warm but empty, which means that Miu was just there. There’s only one person who could be making those pancakes, anyhow. Yawning, Kaede swings her legs off the side of the bed and steps into her slippers. Ooh, chilly. On second thought, Kaede pulls the duvet off the bed and wraps herself up in it as she pads out of their bedroom and down the hall.

Golden sunlight is streaming in through the kitchen windows, so even though the lights are off throughout the house, Kaede can see dust particles floating by the window sill. Miu, standing in front of the stove, has pink-highlighted blonde hair tied into a high ponytail, and it shimmers in the light. She looks radiant. Not that she doesn’t always look radiant, but that’s not the point. Kaede is sleepy still and Miu looks like an ethereal being in the sunlight.

Plus, she’s making breakfast. Big girlfriend points. Kaede hums out a _good morning_ as she shuffles across the kitchen, slipping her arms around Miu’s waist and tilting her head down to kiss her chastely on the neck. She feels Miu chuckling against her, and though she doesn’t turn from the pancakes she’s making, she hums before she replies.

“Mornin, sexy,” Miu glances to the side, her eyes crinkling and sparkling when they make eye contact. Kaede gazes into her eyes, admiring the breathtaking sky blue hue of her irises. They take on a golden glow in the sunlight. “You just wake up?”

“Mmmhm,” Kaede nods, kissing her on the neck again. “Yeah, I did,” she adds after a moment. Her eyes flutter shut when she yawns, sleepily nuzzling Miu’s shoulder. That gets a shiver out of her fiance, and Kaede giggles. Miu’s really sensitive pretty much everywhere, but on her neck and shoulder especially. It’s cute. Kaede will take full advantage of this fact later, sleepy and mischievous as she’s feeling right now, but maybe not at this very moment, if only because Miu is currently using an oven. “Did you sleep much?”

“Nope,” Miu pops the p, grinning. “I got this fucking awesome invention idea at like three and the morning and had to write it down. I tried t’ stay in bed with ya though,” she glances at Kaede again, her brow creasing. “Since I know you don’t like me running around in the middle of the night.”

“I like my Mius well rested,” Kaede shrugs. “Wanna tell me about your idea?”

“Hell yeah I do!” Miu beams, and Kaede feels her heart melting and expanding, filling with warmth. Boy, is she lucky to be in a relationship with such a wonderful woman. She smiles into Miu’s neck and flutters her eyes shut for a moment as she listens to her talk.


	9. Irunami(?)/Nanami/Iruma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> irunami, prompt 12
> 
> "the hug that comes after a rough day"

Chiaki furrows her brow down at her gameboy. “Drat,” she says flatly, watching the _GAME OVER_ screen appear. She sighs, pressing the power button, and puts the device to the side. No wins today.

“What’s the deal?” Miu gives her a confused look that is probably more like concerned, her lips turning. “Somethin wrong with it? I just fixed that piece of shit last week.”

“...” Chiaki stares at the closed gaming console, her brow creasing. “Nothing is wrong with it, I think,” she muses, chewing the inside of her cheek. “It’s... maybe something wrong with me. Maybe,” she adds, looking off to the side.

“You said that already,” Miu points out, gesturing with a gummy worm.

A wry smile crosses over Chiaki’s expression. “I did do that,” she agrees.

“But, uh,” looking slightly awkward, Miu clears her throat. Her cheeks pink, and so Chiaki looks up at her. She blushes often. It always looks very nice when she does. Miu is pretty. She notes this with some tiredness today, rather than any real emotion. “Nothin’s wrong with you-- I mean, guess I can’t really tell, I can’t look at a person and tell them what the fuck is up, but like,” she shrugs. “I think you’re good.”

“...” It takes Chiaki a minute to pick her words when she hears that one. “...No. It’s me.”

“A’ight, gamer girlfriend,” Miu turns to face her, a gummy work hanging out of her mouth, chewing obnoxiously. Her blue eyes are very serious. Distantly, Chiaki notes that that’s very sexy of her. “The hell’s the matter with you? You’re all emo today and it’s fucking weird.”

“Is it?” Chiaki asks, blinking. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just--” Miu scoffs. “You died in a video game. Not really the kinda shit you tear yourself to pieces over, right? I mean, it’s frustrating, but it happens, everyone has bad days, y’know? They’re not gonna like take your talent or anything.”

“...” Chiaki smiles. “They won’t, no. I think.”

“Yeah, you think,” Miu rolls her eyes. “So stop all the sad self deprecation shit. It’s weird. And it’s not like you.”

No, it’s not like her. Chiaki laces her fingers together in her lap, blinking, breathing steadily. Her eyes are burning. Miu would feel super awkward if she started crying right now. It’s kind of hard to _not,_ though, is the thing.

“You good?” Miu sounds a bit alarmed. Rats. So Chiaki wasn’t being as subtle as she would’ve liked.

“I’m okay,” Chiaki says. “Probably. Nothing happened. It’s just like you said, a bad day.” She shrugs. “You’re really nice, Iruma-san. But you don’t have to talk about it with me if it makes you feel weird.”

“That’s not the issue,” grumbles Miu. “Just don’t like you looking so fucking depressed.”

Chiaki blinks. “Iruma-san...”

“Awh, shut the fuck up,” Miu huffs, and before Chiaki can reply to that, there are arms being tucked around her shoulders, and she’s being pulled into a tight, startlingly warm embrace. She smells like gummy worms and pillows and deodorant, and Chiaki is struck by the realisation that despite being best friends with Miu, she’s never actually... hugged her before. Suddenly the temptation to cry is much stronger than it was a second ago.

She brings her arms up to reciprocate the hug, chewing the inside of her cheek. She really doesn’t want to make Miu comfort her for no reason.

“Look, this is a shitty shirt, okay?” Miu mumbles. “So if you wanna cry or whatever, it’s fine. I mean, I look sexy as hell in it,” she scoffs, “but I look sexy in pretty much anything. So whatever. I’m not fussed about it.” In a softer voice, she adds, “Just, take the time you need, y’know?”

Chiaki laughs into her shoulder. Miu is one of a kind. She closes her eyes and presses her face into Miu’s shirt, humming. This is comforting. Miu is soft. “Thank you, Iruma-san.”

“Whatever,” she grumbles. “Just don’t go spreading shit. And you better be appreciating this because it’s not often people get to be this close to my fantastic tits, y’know?”

Giggling, Chiaki replies, “I’m definitely appreciating it.”

Just... maybe not for that reason.


	10. Kaemaki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kaemaki, prompt 16
> 
> "a goodbye hug"

Maki is about to leave.

The sky is overcast tonight and the air is crisp and cold. The flickering streetlamps above her do little to illuminate the shadowy street, and she’s not a fan of the vibes in this spot. Not at all. Uncomfortably, she removes her cybernetic arm and attempts to massage some warmth into her actual skin, curling her nose at the cool metal. She can’t be waiting much longer here, not for someone she hasn’t seen in months, even if she’s not gonna see her for another--

“Harukawa-san!” Akamatsu’s voice interrupts her train of thought, and Maki thinks, _well, nevermind, I guess,_ as she turns around, slipping her prosthetic back on, curling the metal hand into a fist, and then turning around.

Akamatsu is running across the street, a large white JAXA jacket tucked over her shoulders, the hood pulled over her head. Probably to hide her face on the busier streets. When she reaches Maki, though, she pulls it down, her breath visible under the yellow lights, and Maki notes that her cheeks are slightly pink, her plum eyes alight with... some, unidentifiable emotion. Likely a positive one.

“Sorry, I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?” Akamatsu frowns, her eyes crinkling.

“You did,” Maki says flatly. Akamatsu’s frown deepens, and she exhales, adding, “But it’s fine.” She wants to add something else, like, _even if I was considering leaving I wouldn’t actually have left, I care about you too much for that,_ but that’s much too vulnerable, in general, and in light of the fact that Akamatsu is leaving tomorrow.

For five years, at that.

Maki knows that she’s excited. It’s her life’s work, after all, to go to Mars. Even before Hope’s Peak Academy called her in as the Ultimate Astronaut, she was in training to be the first person on Mars. She went to space for the first time when she was thirteen years old. Akamatsu is absolutely remarkable, and what’s even more remarkable about her is her love for space, for the universe and the stars, for everything that’s out there.

To Maki, it’s all terrifying. But to Akamatsu, it’s a thing of dreams. And Maki is in love with her. She always has been.

The sentiment tastes bitter to her, right now. She focuses so hard on Akamatsu for a moment that her vision blurs. It’s just... it’s weird. It’s weird that Akamatsu is here now, standing in front of her, her breath coming from her lips in visible puffs, when tomorrow she’ll be making history. When tomorrow, it’ll mark the beginning of five years where Maki won’t be able to pick up her phone and call her, won’t be able to go visit her at JAXA headquarters, won’t be able to do any of it. Five years... completely alone.

Or at least, it feels that way. Maki swallows down a thick lump in her throat. She should say something.

“Are you excited?” she asks, more quietly than she means to.

“Yeah, I am!” Akamatsu nods, eager, her eyes lighting up. “I’m so excited! Nervous though. Really nervous,” she laughs a bit, rubbing the back of her neck. “I mean, a lot could go wrong, y’know? But I have faith in my crew!” She holds her hands up in fists. “I believe they’ll be able to help if I mess up!”

“You should have faith in yourself, too,” Maki mumbles, averting her gaze. “You’re pretty good at all that stuff.”

“Aww, Harukawa-san,” Akamatsu smiles softly. “Thank you. I...” she pauses, blinking quickly, as though she’d like to cry. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

_Yeah, me too,_ Maki thinks. For some reason she’s finding it difficult to say aloud. It’s hard to focus on Akamatsu right now.

“I’m gonna think about you every day! Is that a lot? I guess it’s kinda a lot, huh? But you’re my best friend! And I... well,” she smiles a bit more sheepishly. “Maybe I’ll tell you that one when I get home, if you’ll wait for me,” her gaze flickers up to meet Maki’s. “A lot can happen in five years, hm?”

Maki thinks she knows what Akamatsu was going to say. And she thinks it’s stupid, the implication that she’ll be doing anything _but_ waiting for Akamatsu over the course of the next five years.

She doesn’t reply with her words. Instead, she glares, hard, at Akamatsu, and then surges forward to take her in a tight hug. Akamatsu gasps quietly, reciprocating, and then inhales like she’s going to speak.

“Come back alive,” Maki grumbles. “Don’t do anything stupid. Or noble,” she adds, blinking back tears. “If something goes wrong and you don’t go back I’m gonna be really mad.”

“Harukawa-san...” Akamatsu trails off.

“I’ll miss you,” Maki breathes out. _I’m so selfish. I don’t want you to leave._ Akamatsu smells like rubber and honeysuckle and her arms are warm and soft. Maki doesn’t ever want this embrace to end.

There’s a moment of quiet. And then Akamatsu’s lips press to the top of her head. “I’ll miss you too,” she whispers. “And I’ll come back! You’ll see. I’ll be back in a second! You won’t even notice I’m gone!”

Maki thinks, _You have no idea how untrue that is,_ but she doesn’t say that. She just screws her eyes shut, fists her hands in the fabric of Akamatsu’s jacket, and pretends that this hug could last forever.


	11. Saimota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> saimota, prompt 13
> 
> "an angry hug"

Shuichi guesses, by how hard Kaito slams the door when he gets in, that it was a bad day at work. Customer service jobs are like that. Infuriating. He exhales, shaking off his hands in the sink and putting his sponge to the side. The rest of the dishes can wait for a hot second, maybe. He gets to the end of the kitchen, peeking out into the hallway, just as Kaito comes around from the foyer, and as soon as their eyes meet there are arms being thrown around his shoulders, and Kaito’s latched onto him tight.

It was either this, or Kaito slips into their bedroom and takes several minutes to calm himself down alone, so Shuichi is glad it’s this one, where he can actually rub his boyfriend’s back while he’s shaking rather than just standing around and waiting for him to reemerge. Sometimes Kaito needs to be alone when he’s upset, and Shuichi gets that, it’s also just-- he wants to help.

Anyway, that’s hardly relevant right now. Shuichi brings his arms around Kaito’s waist, clasping his hands together on the small of his back, kissing Kaito on the shoulder where his face rests and breathing in deep. He smells like coffee beans and old spice shampoo, and while it’s comforting, Shuichi pushes the emotion to the back of his mind, because right now, he’s not the one who actively needs to be comforted.

He releases his hands from the clasp in order to rub circles on Kaito’s back. He’ll wait for his boyfriend to break the silence. It’s not as though there’s an expiration date on this hug. It’s a bit concerning, though, that Kaito is shaking; not that Shuichi’s never seen him trembling before, because he has. Kaito gets angry a lot, but he’s quivered over larger things and lesser things. The specifics don’t really matter. It’s just a bit upsetting, seeing him this way.

“Sorry,” Kaito mumbles after a while, his face buried in Shuichi’s hair. Shuichi hums, long and quiet, and shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything else, though. With Kaito, apologies often preface explanations, and he doesn’t have any problems with waiting for that. “Nothing out of the ordinary today. Just some fucking stupid customers.”

“Mmm,” Shuichi pauses. “I thought so,” he admits gently. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Kaito laughs, bitterly and shakily. Shuichi feels him shaking his head. “Nah, no, I don’t. Really what I wanna do is cruise on back there and make an introduction to my fists, but uh,” he chuckles. “Don’t know if that would help.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Shuichi agrees, tilting his head back up to meet Kaito’s eyes. There’s a swirling upset in his lilac hues; it pushes past anger and more into... ah, Shuichi isn’t sure how to put it. He just looks upset. Mmm. He’s really not cut out for a customer service job. He gets upset too easy. “I’m about to finish doing the dishes, but after that would you, ah, like to watch a movie, maybe? I can put something on, maybe Moana?” Do they still have Moana? Disc cartridges come and go in their apartment. Shuichi wrinkles his nose in thought, and then looks up again when he hears Kaito exhaling.

“Yeah, that’d be real nice,” Kaito hums, faintly, and Shuichi gives him a smile. “Just a second, though. I wanna... mm.” He pauses for a moment. “I just wanna hold you for a sec, okay?”

Shuichi gazes up at him through his eyelashes, and nods, tucking himself back into the embrace. He closes his eyes after a moment, and after a while, feels Kaito relaxing into him.


	12. Amamota

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> amamota, prompt 22
> 
> "a protective hug"
> 
> tw: coughing, illness. typical v3 things

Amami shows up to breakfast with a grimace, glancing around the dining hall. There are only a couple people here; Momota, off by the kitchen, and Akamatsu, sitting upright in her spot, looking almost catatonic. He sighs. Who could blame her, really, after Iruma’s execution last night. He knows they were close. There’s a large part of him that wants to go over and comfort her, but... mm. He’s hesitant, and not because of Akamatsu, but rather because he’s not sure what he’d say. Every day that passes here the more he remembers his old friends (Miyake, Sako, Sonada) and he just... doesn’t know how to comfort her anymore. Doesn’t know what reassurances he’d even use.

Instead, he walks over to the kitchen and joins slips in after Momota, letting the door swing shut behind them. He’s in here to get food, presumably. Amami isn’t sure how they’re all going to manage with Toujo gone. He can cook somewhat, just, his meal options are very _limited._ Like he can do your traditional Japanese style breakfast provided you’re good with the fish a little burnt. And the rice in his onigiri is usually pretty crushed, but it’s edible. Eatable. You could eat Amami’s onigiri.

Hmm. Anyway. Amami leans against the doorframe, folding his arms over his chest and watching Momota walk over to the sink. And for a moment Amami thinks he’s going to wash his hands, but instead he grips the edge of the sink, bracing himself against it. Amami raises his eyebrows. Is he okay?

It’s difficult to see Momota’s face at this angle. Or to make out what he’s thinking. Amami hums, “Momota-kun,” and watches the other boy jolt, full-body, releasing the sink and scrambling to turn around, to face Amami. His face is pale, and his expression is a bit distressed. Clearly, he didn’t hear Amami coming in, or else he wouldn’t have bent over the sink like that. Actually, Amami doesn’t know if he’s ever seen such an expression.

“Oh, hey, Amami,” Momota’s smile is bracing, but convincing. Amami would be more convinced if not for what he just saw. He won’t call him out, though. “Sorry. I’m like, really hungry. Didn’t get to eat dinner last night.”

“Yeah, I getcha,” Amami chuckles, pushing off the doorframe and walking into the kitchen. He plucks a banana from a basket in the middle of the kitchen, peeling it as he speaks. “Me either. The investigation and trial kinda went through dinner.” _And nobody wanted to eat after seeing Iruma’s execution,_ Amami thinks, but does not say.

Momota seems to understand, anyway. His lilac eyes crinkle at the edges, in sympathy. “You’re doing okay? You and Toujo were friends, weren’t you?”

“As much as I’m friends with everyone else here,” Amami shrugs. “Yeah, I’m upset.” Desensitised, though. Terribly, awfully desensitised. When he came across Saihara’s body in the library, way back in the beginning, it was dread rather than disgust or horror that churned in the pit of his stomach. A gross, sticky feeling of, _not again._ “How‘re you holding up?”

“It sucks, man,” Momota sighs. “This is... yeah, it...” he runs a hand through his hair and clasps it on the back of his neck, looking, for a long moment, deeply disconcerted. His gaze fixes on a spot on the floor and stays there. Amami looks somewhere else, so Momota won’t feel fussed to make eye contact with him. “Yeah.”

Amami wants to say, _This isn’t my first rodeo, Momota-kun, you don’t have to feel guilty about not having as much composure as I do in the face of it,_ but he wouldn’t even know where to begin about explaining that. He doesn’t even know for sure if it is his first rodeo or not, or if the deja vu that’s been hitting him since he got here is just incidental, linked to some other experience that slipped from his mind like his talent. Whatever the case, he doesn’t end up saying anything, just gazing in silence off at the far wall.

And then Momota lets out an awful sounding cough into his sleeve.

Amami bristles, gaze shooting back over to Momota, his eyes going _wide._ Momota straightens a bit, opening his mouth to speak, and then hunches over again, burying his face into his sleeve and coughing some more. The coughs are ragged and guttural, hoarse and painful-sounding. Amami winces just hearing them, feeling his own throat tightening in sympathy. Amami opens his mouth to speak, but Momota’s coughing is too loud, too intense, and Amami can’t get a word in.

When Momota stumbles, Amami catches him, arms instinctively curling around his midsection. Momota is bent over at the waist, his forehead pressing into Amami’s chest as he shudders. One of his hands, his free hand, grasps at Amami’s shoulder, and he rasps out, “‘m fine, sorry,” before coughing some more.

“You’re _not_ fine,” Amami says, his brow lowering. “Momota-kun, wh--”

“Don’t worry,” Momota slurs, hoarsely. He swallows hard, which Amami registers because he can feel Momota’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and the coughing fit stops. His breathing is much too controlled for it to have happened naturally. When he lifts his head, still quivering in Amami’s arms, there’s blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. “It’s fine, it’s just a cold.”

“That’s not a cold, Momota-kun,” Amami replies in a low voice. “It-- You sounded like you were _dyi--”  
_

The door to the kitchen swings open with a bang, and Amami turns quickly, his grip tightening automatically on Momota, bringing him in to his chest. It’s Akamatsu standing there, his eyes wide with alarm, her expression panicked.

“Are you two okay?” Akamatsu asks, her voice tight. She’s breathing heavily, as though she ran to the door. “I thought I heard coughing.”

Before Momota can reply, Amami curls his arms further around the other boy, keeping him in the protective embrace, and smiles. “It’s alright, Akamatsu-san. Momota-kun just has a head cold.”

“Ah,” Akamatsu blinks. “Are you sure? It sounded--”

“It’s really okay,” Amami cuts her off, and feels guilty for it when he sees the way her brows pinch together. He doesn’t even know why he’s lying. If Momota is sick, this is a big deal. It’s just that Momota is still shaking in his arms, shoulders tense with coughs he’s not letting out, and his first instinct was to lie about it which means he doesn’t want people to know. Amami couldn’t say _why_ he doesn’t want people to know. (Maybe he doesn’t want to make himself a target? That would be understandable, they’re in a killing game, after all.) But his chest is tight for some reason. “You can go back to the dining hall, we’ll be out in a second.”

The look Akamatsu gives him is skeptical. “Well, okay,” she says. “Feel better, Momota-kun,” she frowns.

“Yeah, thanks,” Momota mumbles, his voice muffled by Amami’s shirt.

When the door swings shut behind Akamatsu and her footsteps recede, Amami turns his head back, looking down at Momota’s trembling form. Momota is taller than Amami, actually, but hunched over like this, Amami’s gaze has to point downwards to look at him. Amami opens and closes his mouth a few times. He’s not sure what to say.

Eventually, Momota asks, “Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?” Amami lifts one of his hands, idly stroking his fingers through Momota’s hair, cupping the back of his head. In most places his hair is stiff with product, but at the base of his skull his hair is soft, and Amami thoughtlessly twirls his fingers in it as he speaks. “Lie?”

“Mhm,” Momota nods into his shoulder. Amami isn’t entirely sure why he hasn’t straightened up yet, but he doesn’t mind. Momota is awfully warm. (Though whether that’s a result of a fever, or just Momota, he couldn’t say.)

“You lied, too,” Amami points out. “Probably had a reason for it, right? I didn’t wanna sabotage you,” he pauses. Thinks about it. “But I’d like it if you could be honest with me about what’s going on with you.”

Momota doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“You don’t owe me anything, of course,” Amami says. “If you don’t want to tell me about it, I’ll accept that and move on. Can’t promise I won’t have an eye on you, but,” he chuckles, “I think I’m kind of entitled to that, so--”

“I don’t think I have very much time left,” Momota whispers. Amami stops talking, abruptly, his eyes widening. He doesn’t know what to say. “I’ve been... this has been happening on and off since I woke up in this place. ‘N it’s only gotten worse,” Momota chuckles. “I’m just trying to hold on until we can get outta here, but it’s... hard.” He’s tense in Amami’s arms, his hands fisted in the fabric of his blue shirt. “Sorry you had to see that. Probably kinda scary to see me coughing like that, huh? My bad for not being more careful.”

“Don’t apologise,” Amami frowns. “I... you’re not going to die, Momota-kun.” Momota laughs into his shirt. “Really, I mean it! You’re not going to die.”

“Sorry if I’m a little skeptical,” Momota pulls back, grinning, his expression sad. “You’re probably right, ‘m not gonna die, it’s just, y’know,” he shrugs. “You don’t hafta reassure me about that shit. I’m braver than that.”

Amami scowls. “Don’t be stupid. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you’re not going to die because we’re going to get out of here.”

“Mmm,” Momota blinks at him. “You think that?”

“I _know_ that,” Amami wrinkles his nose. “I’m gonna get everyone out of here. And I’m gonna do it soon, before anything happens to you. I mean that,” he adds, when Momota gives him another skeptical look. “I have--” ah, shit, what is he saying, “an advantage, over everyone else here. So you can trust me when I say that.”

“An advantage,” Momota repeats.

“Right,” Amami nods. “And I’ll show you if you want,” he says, despite the knot forming in his chest. “So just--”

He bites his lip. Takes in Momota, the odd, vulnerable look on his face, the fact that he’s still basically in Amami’s arms. He remembers the way Momota took on Hoshi as his sidekick after the game started, the way he’s been encouraging everybody else here this whole time, lifting everyone up. No, this man doesn’t deserve to die here of some illness. He deserves to escape. ~~He deserves to survive.~~

“Don’t say you’re gonna die,” Amami breathes out. “Okay?”

For some reason, Momota takes a moment to reply, opening and closing his mouth. Amami is aware his gaze is heavy; actually, his eyes have been burning a bit this entire time, so it’s not impossible that he might just burst into tears on the spot here. Maybe Momota can tell.

Then a smile appears on Momota’s face. He shifts forward, and slips his arms around Amami, pulling him into a proper hug this time. As Amami lifts his hands to reciprocate, he ignores the fact that Momota is still shaking and squeezes him tight.

“Thanks, Rantaro,” Momota says. Amami feels a lump rise in his throat. “You’re right. I shouldn’t talk like that. And I believe you’ll get us all outta here! With my help, of course.”

“Of course,” Amami says quietly. Guess this is just how it’s going to be, now. It’s just like the time limit they got back in the very beginning, before Saihara died. Only this time there’s only one life on the line, and somehow this one feels much more urgent.

Amami closes his eyes and holds Momota close.


End file.
